Wake the Devil (5 page)

A
fter reaching the house, Jack dried Marta off and got the fire going. Beth was still upstairs soaking. He then started some water boiling for the pasta he planned to make and took two chicken breasts out of the fridge, coating them with olive oil and flattening them with his knife. He had no doubt she’d be hungry when she came down. The amount of food that woman could eat and still stay in shape amazed him. Of course, going to the gym four days a week helped. If there was an ounce of fat on her, it was a well-kept secret.

By the time the water was starting to boil, he heard Beth stirring and placed the chicken breasts in a frying pan. Having just been fed, Marta lost interest in watching him and wandered into the family room. In under a minute, she was asleep on their love seat by the fire. He added a few shallots to the pan then tossed the pasta into the boiling water.

Beth came padding down the steps wearing a white terrycloth robe and a pair of his slippers she’d appropriated after moving in. Jack had given up any hope of getting them back and purchased another pair for himself.

“Oh, you made us a fire,” she said.

“Dinner’ll be ready in a minute,” Jack said. “In there or here?”

Beth came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his back. “How ’bout here? Then we’ll go inside and relax. Marta’s unconscious.”

“Rough walk.”

By unspoken agreement, neither discussed the case. Instead, they talked about everything else under the sun, from visiting her folks over the upcoming holidays to shopping for new lawn furniture and a grill when the weather was warmer. Ultimately, Beth informed him his daughter wanted to go skiing with her class over the winter break.

“I didn’t know that,” Jack said, surprised.

“If it’s all right with you, of course.”

There was no reason to object . . . apart from the cost. He’d been skiing before and knew trips like that came with a hefty price tag. You could bribe an Atlanta politician for less.

“I gather Morgan asked you to pave the way?”

“Not in so many words. It’ll be a lot of fun. Her whole class is going and Lake Tahoe is gorgeous.”

“You’ve been there?”

“A guy I was dating took me a few years ago,” Beth said.

For some reason, that annoyed him, but he kept it to himself. “Are you in favor of the trip?”

“Of course.”

“Did she tell you what her mother said?”

“To ask you.”

“Which means she doesn’t want to pay for it.”

“Probably,” Beth said.

A thought occurred to him. “What if we surprise her and join her out there?”

“Jack, she’d die of embarrassment.”

“How come?”

“Trust me. I was a thirteen-year-old girl.”

He didn’t have much to say about that.

“Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Well, there’s a really cute boy in her class she likes named Josh, who’s going too.”

Jack put down his fork. “Thirteen is way too young to date.”

“I agree,” Beth said. “But they don’t exactly date these days. They hang out in packs, like wolves.”

It was depressing how much he didn’t know about his daughter and how quickly she was growing up and how much of it he was missing. He really did want to see her, but was willing to defer to Beth.
As to the growing up part, there wasn’t much he could do about that, either. Morgan had been five when he and Katherine split.

Every time he saw her after being apart, he was shocked to see the changes. The last time he took her shopping for a new pair of jeans, she went into the dressing room Hannah Montana and came out Miley Cyrus.

After dinner, they adjourned to the family room, sat on the couch, and watched an old movie. The fire, expertly built in his opinion, insinuated its heat into the room. Marta continued her slumber. Every so often, her front paws twitched. He wondered what she was dreaming about. Beth snuggled her way under his arm and placed her head on his chest.

The movie was an old Jimmy Stewart film about a six-foot-tall invisible rabbit named Harvey. Six feet four inches, to be precise. Jack had seen it a dozen times but was content to watch it again. Beth giggled at the jokes and found it charming.

For reasons beyond his understanding, the film’s sponsor that evening was Viagra.

“Hm,” Beth said when the third commercial aired.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You can’t just say hm, and leave it like that.”

“Well, I was wondering. Have you ever tried it?”

“No,” Jack said indignantly, looking at her.

“Just asking.”

“Why?”

“Maggie Tannenbaum says that fifty percent of men over forty have some degree of dysfunction.”

“I’m thirty-nine.”

“Still . . .”

“Still, what?”

“She’s a doctor, Jack.”

“She’s a
podiatrist
.”

“They’re doctors, too. Maggie told me her husband tried it.”

“For God’s sake, Max is sixty-five. He’s lucky if he can walk across the room.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Have you been, uh . . . dissatisfied?”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “Of course the last time—”

“That was just once,” Jack said. “I was thinking about those stupid skeletons at the museum.”

“Don’t get upset,” Beth said, rolling over on top of him.

That was when he noticed the front of her robe was undone. He pulled her down to him and kissed her. She responded by pressing her hips into his.

“Oh,” she said, shifting her hips slightly. “It doesn’t seem like you need those pills after all.”

Afterward, Beth stood and languidly stretched in the firelight totally without inhibition. She picked up her robe, but didn’t put it on, draping it over one shoulder instead. Jack lay there waiting for his heart rate to return to normal as she walked to the steps.

“Care to join me upstairs?” she asked.

“Right now? I’m still trying to get my breath back.”

“That was round one, honey. You know how us gals are.”

Five Days to the Grand Jury

T
he Lawrences lived in an upscale subdivision in the middle of Atlanta. Jack and Beth, running a little late that morning, pulled up to the front of the house and parked. Azalea and Camilla bushes, dormant with the approaching winter, lined the home’s foundation. Several hanging flower baskets filled with purple and yellow pansies were suspended from black angle brackets at the corners. The house was a reasonable size, though not ostentatious, and consistent with others in the neighborhood. It appeared to be a pleasant, comfortable home with a lot of nice touches. What it did not have were any police cars in the driveway.

“Damn,” Beth said.

As soon as they exited their vehicle, she moved her suit jacket to the side to allow easier access to the 9 mm semiautomatic Beretta on her right hip.

“Are you carrying?” she asked Jack.

“Actually . . . no.”

“My backup’s in the glove compartment. Doesn’t the FBI have rules about carrying a weapon?”

“They must,” Jack said. “It’s been a while.”

Beth shook her head and waited while he retrieved the gun. As they approached the front door, each moved to opposite sides. Beth knocked. Several seconds passed without an answer.

“Where the hell are they?” she said.

“Call Dwayne Stafford,” Jack said. “He took over for Pappas this morning.”

Beth removed her cellphone and called her secretary for Stafford’s number. She asked if Nolvia knew where the detective was.

It wasn’t possible to hear Nolvia’s answer, but Jack was familiar with the look on Beth’s face. Before he could ask the obvious question, she disconnected and was placing a second call. Her voice remained calm when Stafford answered.

“Dwayne, listen carefully,” Beth said. “You’re in a highly dangerous situation. I’m not exaggerating. More important, the witnesses are in danger. Didn’t Pappas explain what’s going on?” She listened to his reply and then continued.

“I understand you couldn’t stop them from leaving the house, and it’s great the Bureau’s sending marshals. Right now they’re our responsibility. I want you to secure Doctors Lawrence and Landry and keep them away from any windows. You heard the man we’re after killed a priest yesterday?”

More conversation followed.

Beth acknowledged the comments and went on. “I don’t give a damn if they have patients. Arrest them for littering, or looking at you cross-eyed. Just get them someplace safe. We’re on the way.”

*

The medical practice’s office manager, Elaine Reynolds, finally pulled herself together and managed to stop crying. Known to her friends as Lanie, she had been with them for the last five years. Rachel Lawrence sat across from her in Lanie’s office on the eighth floor trying to comfort and assure her that everything would be all right. She wished someone would comfort her.

With George gone, covering his rounds at the hospital was now a priority. Just because Rachel was hurting didn’t mean the patients weren’t. Her partner, Stuart Patterson, had canceled his vacation to Las Vegas and was doing his best to pitch in. Rachel knew he couldn’t manage everything on his own.

As she left Lanie’s office, all she wanted was to go home and crawl into bed, but two of the young children she’d operated on were still in critical condition. She needed to be there. End of argument. Like Stu Patterson, she was a senior partner now, except she didn’t feel much like a senior anything. Her life had been ripped apart by an event
that even now she could hardly believe had happened. She kept seeing the tram fall, like a movie playing in an endless loop. That morning, after a fitful hour or two of sleep, she awoke thinking George was in bed with her. Except there was no George anymore. Brilliant, sweet George. God, how she missed him.

Rachel had gone through her morning rounds on autopilot, until she came to little Wendy Montero. For the first time since the girl was three, no more seizures racked her body. With all her heart, she wished George could have been there to receive Wendy’s hugs. They had partnered in the operation. The child’s mother actually kissed her hands when she entered the girl’s room. The joy that act of gratitude gave her was indescribable. Little did the family know, it had taken every ounce of strength she possessed to get dressed that morning, put on a little makeup, and find her way to the hospital. Rachel continued to go through the motions praying that some sense of normalcy would find her. The routine was familiar, and ultimately satisfying, but it would have been far easier to remain in the dark with an arm across her eyes.

*

A lone female officer stationed at the garage entrance was checking cars as they came in. Two others were on duty at the building’s front and rear entrances. The officer was a heavy-set black woman. The nameplate on her chest read “C. Chambers.” Beth exited the car and identified herself.

“We don’t have enough people,” Chambers said. “In addition to this door and the rear entrance, there’s a bridge that connects the building to the hospital. Anybody and his brother can get in. The building manager told me they have deliveries coming all day in addition to the regular mail. Ain’t no way you can secure this place without shutting it down.”

Jack took a couple of steps back onto the sidewalk and examined the red granite structure. He was inclined to agree. After thirty seconds, he concluded the building was indefensible. When he was through, he turned and studied the office buildings on either side, as well as those across the street. This was a nightmare waiting to happen. They were on Peachtree Street just south of Tower Place,
a popular Atlanta business complex. Traffic was congested, though moving freely.

Beth gave voice to his thoughts. “We have to get them out of here.”

He inquired where the medical office was.

“Detective Stafford’s with them up on eight. When you speak to Dr. Lawrence, tell her I was real sorry to hear about her husband. What a thing to happen.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Beth said.

“Say again?”

“Someone set off two explosives: one at the bottom of the mountain and one that took out the cable.”

“Jesus,” Chambers said. “Why? They’re doctors. They help people.”

“We’re not sure ourselves at this point. Would you call Stafford and let him know we’re on the way up?”

“Sure thing,” Chambers said, reaching for the hand mic on her shoulder. “Anything special I need to know?”

“Just stay alert. Anyone coming in here better have a good reason. I wish I could give you a description of the man we’re after, but we don’t know what he looks like. I can tell you this; he is an assassin and a cop killer.”

*

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Wesley whispered to himself. “Not one, but two plainclothes detectives briefing the cop.”

He studied the pair for several seconds through his scope. The man was tall and solidly built. Possibly an athlete of some sort. Pleasant face. Good features. Not particularly handsome. The brunette was also tall and quite pretty. No, wrong word. Beautiful was more accurate. Something about her face sparked a long buried memory, but he pushed it away. From the conversation with the cop, it was hard to tell which of them was in charge. That might be important. Kill the head, the body dies. The details are what got you. The woman was wearing a black blazer over a blue blouse and a pair of tight jeans with high heels. Fashion conscious, but those heels would make running difficult.

Wesley’s thoughts came in like strobe bursts. Call the Mentor and let him know? Handle the situation himself? More information was needed. Superior knowledge and planning were everything.

He scratched the back of his hand and shifted his attention to the man’s eyes. The scope’s optics were clear enough to see they were hazel, alert, and moving methodically across the building he was in. Sensing the intelligence behind them, he inched backward deeper into the shadows.

Yesterday, the cops had shown up unexpectedly. Of course, discovery was always a possibility, and he planned for it. He wondered if this man could be the reason. If so, having him for an opponent would mean having to raise his game. Not a bad thing, because certain people helped define him.

Wesley’s fingers trailed across the rifle’s stock. Take him out now, or wait and see what develops? A shiver coursed through his body. No one had mounted a serious challenge for him in a long time. Shooting fish in a barrel was no fun. None at all.

Cops or FBI? Didn’t matter. Still, their presence might explain why the witnesses hadn’t come to the window yet. You plan not for what your enemy can do, but for what he was capable of.

Did the man’s eyes just stop at his window?

Not possible. He had to block out his thoughts. Slow his heart rate. Concentrate on the task at hand.

Tap. Tap. That’s all it would take.

Sooner or later, the witnesses would leave the building or come to the window. Either way, they were his. Wednesday was only five days away. Then Brazil. Copacabana Beach, Ipanema, the falls at Iguassu, and so many other things he’d read about. He couldn’t remember if the seasons were reversed there. Definitely have to check that out.

*

They found Rachel Lawrence in her office reviewing a patient’s chart. Dr. Will Landry was across the hall in an examining room evaluating a ten-year-old boy with a web hand. There was still no sign of the U.S. Marshals Todd Milner had promised. After his conversation with Beth, Dwayne Stafford appeared somewhat sheepish. He introduced Jack and Beth to Rachel.

“Dr. Lawrence, I’m Jack Kale and this is Elizabeth Sturgis with the Atlanta Police. Please accept our condolences on your loss. I understand you asked to see me. How can I help you?”

Rachel’s first question was if they had any leads in the case yet.

He was about to respond, but stopped when Will Landry came in. She introduced them.

“We’re confident what happened at Stone Mountain had something to do with the meeting you observed several weeks ago,” Jack said.

“All George, Rachel, and I saw was one man passing another a briefcase,” Will Landry said. “We didn’t even know who they were.”

“But you identified Sergei Borov,” Jack said.

“After the prosecutor showed us his picture,” Landry said. “Why hasn’t anyone spoken with him?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “Detective Pappas mentioned it to me last night. That will happen, I assure you. To be honest, I don’t think the odds are good Borov will break down and confess. Our job is to keep you both safe and catch the man who planted those bombs.”

“And after that we’re on our own?” Rachel said.

Jack smiled. “It’s not quite so venial. What I meant to say was, we intend to take the killer out of the picture, permanently. I promise the government won’t use you and throw you to the wolves.”

“Your faith is encouraging,” Rachel said.

Jack raised his eyebrows. It was something he did when he didn’t know what to say. Beth took up the slack.

“Given the circumstances, we thought you might be at home for the next few days.”

“Ordinarily, I would,” Rachel said. “Right now I have kids who need my attention. So does Will. I also have a husband to bury. I don’t have the luxury of hiding out and forgetting about them.”

“You understand your being here creates all kinds of problems. We evaluated the building on our way in and it can’t be defended. Not only are you at risk, so is your staff and those children you care about. Believe me when I say this killer will stop at nothing to achieve his goal, which unfortunately means killing you both.”

Rachel started to reply, but Beth held her hand up and cut her off.

“Hear me out. You don’t know this, but there was an aborted attempt on your life yesterday. It resulted in the death of a priest across the street from where you live. I need you to understand, this is not a joke. It’s something you both need to take seriously.”

“Who was it?”

“Father David Beckley.”

Rachel’s mouth opened in shock. She and Will exchanged glances. Several seconds passed as they processed the information. As much as Beth hated giving out this sort of news, it was necessary to get their attention.

Rachel finally said, “I know David Beckley. I can’t speak for Will, but I can’t put my life on hold. I have rounds to do and children who require careful follow-up.”

“Actually, she did speak for me,” Will Landry said. “I’m needed here now more than ever.”

*

Jack listened to the exchange and considered the woman in front of him. It was clear that whatever decision was to be made or whatever compromise they reached would come from her. She was casually dressed in navy-blue slacks and a white cashmere sweater that she wore under her lab coat. There was a class and determination about her that he liked. What stood out was a force of personality that was almost palpable. When Rachel concluded what she had to say, her jaw became set and determined. She folded her arms across her chest as though she was protecting herself from further hurt. She had already suffered an unspeakable loss and was clinging to her profession and the needs of her patients just as a drowning man might cling to a piece of wood. Jack understood that. In the parlance of psychologists, it was called deflection. He had no desire to add to her burden, so he decided to try a different approach.

“Your presence here also places Dr. Landry at risk. To be perfectly blunt, you’re both in a great deal of danger.”

“Forget it,” Will said. “I’m not leaving.”

Jack looked from one to the other. Will Landry placed his arm protectively around Rachel’s shoulders.

“Would you be willing to use a safe house for the next few days as a compromise?”

Rachel started to respond, but he continued before she could do so.

“Think about this before you answer, and when you do, you’ll both need to agree. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to make some hard decisions I’d rather not have to.”

They were intelligent people and understood what he was saying. Protective custody could be forced on them if they didn’t cooperate.

“That might work,” Rachel said slowly. “Will?”

“I guess I could do that,” Will said.